


And the Walls Came Tumbling Down

by Pteropoda (SilentP)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Arguments, Breakups, Conflict Resolution, Established Relationship, M/M, We are never ever getting back together, until we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-05 04:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1806049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentP/pseuds/Pteropoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hoist has said the wrong thing and he knows it, but it's difficult to apologize when Grapple seems determined never to look him in the faceplates again. Of course, the rest of the Ark knows better; according to them, those two have been together since the dawn of Cybertron, and they will continue to be a couple until the end of time. All they need to do is get those two to realize it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I plan to have the second part of this finished and posted before next week! Hopefully the summer heat will comply with that. My brain and my computer both are not fond of the humidity. In the meantime, enjoy the start!

The words were a mistake. Hoist knew it the moment they left his vocalizer.

“Honestly, Grapple, you’re being ridiculous. I don’t know why I put up with you.”

Even as he said it he realized that it wasn’t what he meant, but the look of hurt on Grapple’s faceplates split him to his very spark. It was more than enough to chill the irritation that had his plating flaring and his cables tensing across his frame. He took a step back, then another, and it did nothing to remove the betrayal that Hoist read so easily in Grapple’s frame. His spark pounded, and his processor was little better. Hoist found he could scarcely remember what had set the argument off in the first place. What mattered now was that it was resolved, but with his spark still running away with his processor, Hoist could think of no proper way to fix this argument. He worried, if he kept talking, it would turn to arguing again, and he would let something else he didn’t mean slip from his vocalizer.

He stepped back once again, and attempted to force the strain from his frame, with only marginal success. “This is getting us nowhere,” he said into the sudden silence of their quarters. “I cannot- this is no way to resolve anything.” Another step back, even as Hoist cast a look around the quarters. Was there anything he ought to bring with him for a night away from his quarters? He could not think of anything, but perhaps that was for the best. His processor was in no state for work. “Perhaps we should talk later,” he finished weakly.

Still he was met with silence. He watched as Grapple, so rarely stuck silent, finally managed a single, jerky nod.

“Right,” he said, at a loss for words himself, and all but fled their shared quarters.

His thoughts whirled and whirled, leaving him stuck with an endless loop of processing. What in Primus’s name had possessed him? At least he had caught himself before saying anything more. He would leave their room to Grapple. He could find somewhere else to recharge tonight. One of the medbay closets had a cot that the medics used during situations too delicate to leave the medbay. With no patients to be monitored, no one would protest if he used it. Then, in the morning, he could return to their quarters and they could have a proper conversation, and he could apologize for his outburst.

An alert on his HUD diverted Hoist’s attention. It was a low fuel warning. Of course, he and Grapple had planned to get their evening energon together until the argument had interrupted that. Now the thought of entering the rec room which, at this time of night, was sure to be full of mechs, was enough to make him flinch. With his reserves where they were he could manage until the morning. Instead, he turned himself in the direction of the medbay.

In front of the doors, he hesitated, calling up the medbay schedule to his HUD before daring to intrude. At this point, the only medic on duty was Wheeljack, and he was only on call from his usual place in his labs. Unless there was an emergency, the place was likely to remain empty, and Hoist was struck by relief at the thought.

Sure enough, the place was dark and empty when the doors slid away before him, without even the beeping of monitors to disturb the quiet. Hoist retreated into the office and turned on only the smallest of the lights, a desk-lamp which filled the room with a soft glow. There was plenty of busywork to be started, though he doubted his ability to finish it when his processor was already filling with the beginnings of an apology to Grapple.

In the end, he didn’t accomplish much of either task, but it still took hours before he finally felt he would be able to properly initiate recharge. When he finally checked his chronometer, it was only hours before dawn, hardly enough time to properly reset his systems. Still, any rest would be better than none. Hoist set aside the work and, with a grinding of gears, made his way to the spare cot. It took forcibly shutting down his processing threads before he could properly power down his optics.

He came online to the abrupt brightness of the medbay lights. Hoist’s chronometer told him that it had been two hours since he finally powered down. His HUD was a mess of warnings about improperly charged systems, but Hoist dismissed them all and levered them upright and stepped out into the medbay proper. “Good morning, Ratchet.”

Ratchet, who was facing away from him, started so badly he dropped his datapad. “What- Hoist!” The CMO shook his helm and knelt to collect his pad, inspecting it for dents. “Primus, you nearly made me short-circuit. What are you doing here at this hour?”

“Ah. Grapple and I had something of an argument last night, and I said some rather unfortunate things. I came to recharge in here, to give him some space.” Hoist paused. Ratchet was giving him a look, the one he usually reserved for patients who were being evasive about the source of their injuries. “What is it?”

Ratchet shook his head. “Hard to imagine the two of you arguing. I’ve never seen it, and I’ve known both of you for vorns. I hope you won’t be planning on taking up that berth too long. We need it in case of an emergency.” Although his tone was gruff, Hoist could recognize the concern behind it.

“Only one night more, if that. I mean to find him now.” He was no closer to coming up with a proper resolution, but he would apologize, and that was a start. “Have a good morning, Ratchet.”

“Good luck,” Ratchet said wryly, waving him off.

When he reached his and Grapple’s shared quarters, Hoist pressed the buzzer to request entrance, rather than simply entering the code and stepping inside. Grapple was touchy about their space at the best of times, and after what Hoist had said last night, he would have to show every courtesy in order to pave the way for a proper apology.

But after a minute without as much as a “go away,” Hoist began to worry. Perhaps Grapple was still in recharge, but neither of them was given to rising late. He requested entrance one more time before finally giving in and opening the door with the code, but the room was empty when he stepped inside. Surprised, Hoist glanced around, but there was no sign of Grapple anywhere, and a few datapads were missing from the stack on the desk.

Grapple must have left early, and taken some work with him, Hoist realized. Perhaps he had gone to their shared workroom. Hoist considered heading right there, but decided on the rec room first. There was always the chance that Grapple had gone to retrieve energon.

But it was clear within a few moments of stepping inside the rec room that Grapple was not there either. Few Autobots had yellow plating, and a glance revealed none in the rec room that morning. Hoist paused, and set aside a thread of worry. There was still the workroom to check.

A call from one of the tables near the door caught his attention, and Hoist glanced over to see Bluestreak waving at him.

“Good morning, Bluestreak,” he said as he approached. “Have you seen Grapple yet, by any chance?”

Bluestreak stared up at him with wide optics. “No, he hasn’t come in yet. I was just about to ask you why! The two of you always get morning energon together. Is he okay? I hope he hasn’t gotten a virus or anything, those are awful, and Ratchet’s fixes are no fun, even though they get rid of the virus.”

“No, he isn’t sick.” Hoist kept his voice calm and even, not allowing any of his disquiet through in his tone. It wouldn’t do to worry Bluestreak. “He must have gone to work ahead of me, and forgotten to retrieve a cube. I’ll bring him some now.”

“Tell him hi for me!” Bluestreak said cheerfully. Hoist nodded, and wasted no time collecting two cubes and setting off.

‘Their’ workroom was technically Grapple’s, but with how often Hoist found himself helping Grapple with his various projects, it had become both of theirs somewhere along the way, and Hoist spent most of his off-shift time there. When he got there, the door was shut, and worry began to thread through Hoist’s spark again. When they were working, Hoist and Grapple had gotten into the habit of leaving their door open, to exchange greetings with any mechs who happened by. The door was usually only closed and locked when they weren’t using it, but with how strangely the entire morning was turning up, Hoist wanted to make sure before he went to search the rest of the Ark.

Stepping up to the door revealed that it had to be locked, since it didn’t automatically slide open. Hoist tapped out the code to open the lock, but instead opening, the keypad beeped a denial. Hoist paused. Had he typed in the code wrong? He tried it again, only to receive the same result.

Ironhide, who was passing by, paused. “Somethin’ wrong there, Hoist?”

“My code doesn’t seem to be working, is all. Perhaps Red Alert changed the door codes?” Red Alert had done so before, of course, but Hoist had a sinking feeling that it was not the case this time. “If zgrapple is here, he will let me in,” he continued, waving Ironhide on even as he hit the buzzer on the door.

Ironhide hesitated, but nodded and continued on. Hoist waited several minutes longer, but the door did not open. He was truly worried now. Grapple wasn’t in their quarters, or the rec room, and if he was in the workroom, he was doing his level best to ignore Hoist.

“Now Hoist, let’s not jump to conclusions too quickly,” he murmured. “It’s entirely possible that he is elsewhere on the ship.” There were several possible locations to check before he should worry. The command center, for one, or Teletraan’s consoles, or even one of the cargo bays.

He looked through each place one by one, but Grapple was nowhere to be found. It was only when he found himself searching the area outside of the Ark where the ship’s hull had collided with the rock of the mountain so many years ago, that he finally admitted it to himself; Grapple was avoiding him.

Hoist took a seat on one of the numerous boulders that surrounded the Ark. Clearly he had underestimated the hurt his comment had caused, if Grapple was going to such extents to keep away from him. Or perhaps it had simply been one more thing on a long list that had finally broken Grapple’s composure. Whatever the case, it meant it was all the more important that he apologize. Hoist was not fond of making people upset, Grapple least of all.

For a moment, he considered sending Grapple a comm, but discarded the thought after only moments. This would have to be done in the metal. Still, there was something he had to be certain of before he went to the workroom where Grapple was, so he remained seated to send the comm.

“What is it, Hoist?” Red Alert spoke before Hoist could even offer a greeting. It was startlingly brusque, but not out of character for Red Alert.

“Hello, Red Alert,” he said, staying polite despite the security director’s sharp tone and his own worries. “Have the Ark’s security codes been changed recently? I’m having some trouble with doors.”

This time, there was a pause before Red Alert answered. “No. Any Ark-wide security updates will not happen for several days at the least.” Another pause, and when Red Alert spoke this time, he sounded nearly hesitant to Hoist’s audials. “I have only had one request for code changes today. The request was made privately, so I cannot tell you the codes.” Red Alert actually sounded sheepish, to Hoist’s audials. “However, the emergency medical override codes should still function.”

“I see.” Using those codes would be a horrible breach of protocol, and as determined as he was to find Grapple and speak to him, he couldn’t be unprofessional about it. “Fortunately, it is not an emergency. I shall simply have to knock. Thank you for your time, Red Alert.”

Red Alert mumbled some sort of affirmative before closing the line, and Hoist levered himself to his pedes. To the workroom it was, and perhaps he could settle the entire matter.

But knocking at the workroom door still got him no answer and more than a few strange looks from mechs passing by. If it weren’t for the conversation he’d had with Red Alert before coming, Hoist was certain he would have received a number of demanding questions some time ago. As it was, after nearly twenty minutes of alternating between knocking and calling through the door, it was clear that Grapple had either left or was continuing in his efforts at ignoring Hoist.

He’d already spent more time than he ought to, looking for Grapple, and this was cutting further into his shift. Considering the many tasks Hoist performed upon the Ark- in addition to medbay shifts, he worked often with Grapple, and more often was called to help repair damaged human property after battles- he was given much more leeway in his duties than the average Autobot, but that was not an excuse for not doing his work.

He was still reluctant to leave, but there was always their quarters after the shift, Hoist reasoned. He tapped on the door one final time. “Grapple… we can speak tonight, all right?” Yet again, there was no answer, and Hoist’s spark sank as he turned in the direction of the medbay. There was still the filing work he’d attempted to begin last night, if he could only bring himself to focus enough to actually do it.

Ratchet, at least, didn’t ask any questions when Hoist walked in and offered his help around the medbay. He just shoved a datapad in Hoist’s direction and told him to get started.

The work was not soothing, but it was distraction enough that Hoist made his way through the day without dwelling utterly on the situation. Still, by the time his shift was over, he was eager to be gone, for it meant that Grapple’s shift had ended as well, and with it his excuse to stay hidden in the workroom. Hoist spared only a moment to wave a goodbye to Ratchet as he left in the direction of his and Grapple’s quarters.

Yet, for the second time that day, he found himself hesitating on the threshold. The room was significantly emptier than it had been just that morning. The blueprints were missing from the walls, several more of the datapads had been liberated from the stack on the desk, and other little miscellaneous items were gone from their places. In a flash of dumbfounded understanding, Hoist realized that every single one of the missing items belonged exclusively to Grapple.

After eons of living together, they had very few things that belonged to one or the other, instead of to both of them. He and Grapple had been sharing space long before they had ever been part of the Ark’s crew, or even members of the Autobots. Few items that were exclusively their own had survived to make it to Earth- a few of Hoist’s medical texts, some of Grapple’s drafting tools, the occasional sentimental item small enough to be carried around in subspace.

Every single one of those that belonged to Grapple was gone. Not only that, but some of the shared items as well, the ones that Grapple tended to use more of the two of them. Hoist suspected that if he actually looked through everything, he would find that exactly half of those things were taken.

The room didn’t appear as though Grapple has never lived in it, with some of their shared possessions still present, but it was missing so much that his absence was all the more glaring. It was a message that Hoist could not deny.

He sank down in the desk chair and buried his faceplate into his hands.

This was not the first time they’d ever fought, far from it. They’d had their problems and their disagreements. There had been times when they were apart, but those had all been temporary, brought about by necessity or a need to let tempers cool until logic could prevail. Always before they had been able to apologize or compromise as needed to bring them back together.

Last night had not even been their worst fight, Hoist thought, pressing finger servos against his visor. That had been in the early days of the war, and it had nearly split them apart, before changing circumstances had forced the decision. Still, even that had not been enough to drive them apart. What had changed so much that this time would be the argument that drove Grapple to leave?

The question plagued him through the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get worse before they get better- but everything gets patched up eventually.

 

Morning found Hoist in front of the workroom door once again. This time, he only knocked twice before turning away toward the medbay. He no longer expected an answer, but it was still a disappointment to be faced with the closed door every time.

Spending his night in their emptied-out quarters had been lonely in a way that Hoist felt down to his struts, but he was not yet ready to give up completely. He meant to apologize. If Grapple decided that an apology still would not fix things, Hoist would… well, he would hurt, but he could keep away.

Preoccupied with his increasingly gloomy thoughts, he did not process the voice calling out his designation. When he finally did, he paused mid-step and glanced up to see Ironhide jogging up to him. “Message for ya from Prowl,” the burly warrior told him. “Somethin’ about changes to your schedule.”

The datapad Ironhide held out to him was headed with an official notice from Prowl. Hoist took it with a nod, and Ironhide simply nodded back before continuing on his way. When he finally glanced over the datapad, he barely muffled a cry of dismay. According to the datapad, he was removed from all building and design projects, taking him away from a huge portion of his duties with no explanation whatsoever.

No, that wasn’t quite true. There was an explanation; it simply wasn’t one from Prowl.

When Hoist entered the medbay, Ratchet glanced up then did a double-take, apparently seeing something in Hoist’s frame that his faceplate and visor would not show. “You, sit,” The CMO ordered, pointing him toward a chair. “And talk.”

“Ah… apparently, I’ve been assigned to work solely in medbay from now on.” Hoist held out the datapad, which Ratchet took and scanned with sharp optics.

“I assume this isn’t because you’ve suddenly got a lot less work to do,” the medic grumped, setting the pad aside. “Did that talk with Grapple not go well?”

Hoist shook his helm, affixing his gaze on the middle distance rather than turn his optics toward Ratchet. “I never got the chance,” he admitted. “He’s been avoiding me since that morning.”

Ratchet shook his head. “What is that mech thinking?” Hoist could only shake his helm again, because as well as he knew Grapple, he couldn’t say. “Want me to check him for a glitch?”

Hoist’s head jerked up, but Ratchet was already holding his hands up. “No, I know. There’s glitching, and there’s Grapple. But I can give him a talking to about this avoidance. I know how he is, letting his processor run away with him, but a good lecture ought to even him out.”

If he’d had a mouth, Hoist would have smiled at Ratchet’s familiar grumbling. It wasn’t quite enough to get rid of his worry, but the offer was comforting. “It’s only been a day. I’m sure we can still work something out. But thank you, Ratchet.”

Ratchet merely shrugged and levered himself up to his pedes. “If you’re going to be working in medbay, then I need you in a proper state for it, and that means not worrying about your slagging partner every moment,” Ratchet said, in the gruff tone that Hoist knew to translate to ‘I care,’ after working alongside the surgeon for so long.

“If you want me to do inventory,” he retorted, rising, “you should just say so.” And just like that, they were ready to go on with their day.

Despite all of Hoist’s current concerns, or perhaps because of them, working in the medbay was restful and familiar. For the next few days, his shifts were a balm for his worried spark. Ratchet, despite his veneer of irritation, was sympathetic to Hoist’s troubles. Neither First Aid nor Wheeljack knew about the situation, but their cheerful friendliness had always made working alongside them an easy task and now was no exceptions. Without interruptions in the form of battle injuries, it was just like any of the clinics Hoist had worked in before the war.

He still stopped by the workroom each morning before his shift, but there was never any answer, and Hoist was beginning to get disheartened. It was becoming too much like a routine for his comfort, especially since their shared quarters still felt far too empty. After a week alone, Ratchet’s offer of a lecture was beginning to seem more attractive.

It was occupying his processor today, as he ran a series of diagnostics on their spark-monitoring equipment. He still hadn’t seen even a hint of Grapple anywhere around the Ark, from their quarters to the rec room, but he was at a loss for anything he could do to actually bring about a conversation. He was still mulling over the problem when the doors slid open.

Bluestreak burst into the room with concern written along every line of his frame as he made a beeline for Hoist. “Bluestreak? What is it? Is someone hurt?”

Bluestreak, rather than answering immediately, clutched at Hoist’s pauldrons, optics bright with worry. “It isn’t true, is it Hoist? I told them it wasn’t, only Ironhide said he’s seen Grapple using the room next to his, and then everyone realized that we haven’t seen the two of you in the same room for a while. You’ve been on medbay shifts for a week, and Grapple’s office is locked all the time now, but…”

Hoist lifted his free hand, carefully prying away Bluestreak’s tight grip. “Bluestreak, you’re going to have to give me the whole story. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The gray mech nodded, and rattled his vents as he expelled air from them. “You and Grapple aren’t breaking up, right?”

It was such an earnest question that Hoist was taken aback. He had to reset his vocalizer before he could respond. “Mechs are saying that, simply because they haven’t seen us together?”

Bluestreak nodded. “Sideswipe said Grapple ignored him when he tried to ask, but Sideswipe’s not good at asking nicely so I thought maybe Grapple didn’t want to talk to him, but I haven’t seen him at all so I couldn’t ask him myself, and I didn’t know if he’d want to answer me either, anyway.”

Hoist was at a loss for words. How could he begin to explain this to Bluestreak, when he hardly knew what was happening himself? With the truth as he knew it, he supposed. “Grapple is taking some time for himself, away from me,” he said cautiously. “And there are some things we need to discuss. But I hope we can come to a resolution.” Bluestreak scrutinized him for several moments before his posture relaxed.

“Well, okay.” When Hoist smiled, Bluestreak settled further, and even took a seat on one of the nearby exam tables. Hoist let him, and turned back to the diagnostics. Without other medics around, shifts could be lonely, and he welcomed the company. “You know, I think every mech here wants to be kind of like you and Grapple.”

“Hmm? Why is that?” Hoist could imagine many Autobots who had earned respect, even hero worship, from their fellows, but he and Grapple were hardly foremost among them.

“The two of you have been together forever, it seems like,” Bluestreak said, earnest and even admiring, to Hoist’s audials. “I can’t even imagine the two of you not being together. You never argue, you’re always together, you always _do_ things for each other. Everyone else flirts and goes to berth sometimes, but no one is a couple the way you two are. You kind of remind me of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, you know? If you’re not together one of you knows where the other one is and what they’re doing, or what they’re thinking. Only I guess it’s more that you’re their opposite. Instead of one spark that split in two, you’re two sparks that resonate.”

Hoist cycled his optics in surprise, and glanced back to Bluestreak. “That’s a very flattering description.” He set down his scanner and turned to face the sniper fully. “But I wouldn’t say we never fight. We’re simply more private about it, and about resolving it. We both have made a lot of compromises for one another, and we don’t always agree.”

“How do you mean?” Bluestreak asked with doors slung high and curious at his shoulders.

“Well, there have been a few since coming to Earth, but the biggest argument we ever had was actually about joining the Autobots.”

“You didn’t want to? Did you want to be Decepticons instead? I know the Constructicons—“ Bluestreak cut himself off. “Sorry, I should let you tell it.”

“That’s quite all right.” Hoist patted Bluestreak’s leg. “The Constructicons were not directly responsible for the argument, no. In the early days when the war was just starting, Grapple was working on commission, and I was serving as a clinic doctor. Because of the work I was doing, I saw and heard the hints of war before others did. There was the energon shortage, of course, but medical supplies began to leap in expense as well, as both sides took for their own use. Before long I began seeing those affected by the fighting. Not soldiers, but the people caught on the sidelines.” Hoist cycled his vents. “Many of them told stories about Autobots who had protected them.”

“After hearing those mechs, I started seeking out more information about both factions.” Bluestreak nodded but kept silent, allowing Hoist to tell the story without interruption. “I found out many things that disturbed me, but it was the Decepticons that truly terrified me. It wasn’t clear then that no one on the planet would escape the war, but the Autobots were doing what they could to help those who had been dragged in against their will, and I decided to do what I could to help them.”

Bluestreak nodded, though Hoist could see him biting his lipplates. “Grapple, on the other hand, was somewhat removed from the war and its problems,” he continued. “He saw both factions as equally terrible, and did not wish to ally himself with either. We were both determined to do what we believed was right, enough that convincing each other was impossible. It was only when Crystal City was destroyed that we finally reconciled.”

“Wow.” Bluestreak’s voice was hushed. “I never knew that.”

“No, it’s not something we often speak of. It was a very trying time.” For all of Cybertron, though that went without saying. Bluestreak merely nodded agreement.

“Do you think…” Bluestreak paused, donning a surprisingly determined expression. “If some mech reminded him of that story, do you think it would help? I mean, make him think that the two of you have gotten through worse and it’s silly to be hiding. Not that I’d say it like that! I just think that maybe he needs to remember that it’s been hundreds of vorns and neither of you has gone anywhere yet.”

Hoist was taken aback. “I… believe he might appreciate it.” In fact, it was probably the best thing a bot on the outside could say, and far more insightful than Hoist had been expecting.

“Good!” All at once, Bluestreak was back to his usual good cheer. “Because I think he needs it. The trouble is going to be finding him in the first place, but I think Jazz could help me. Pretty much everyone will help, really, because everyone does think it’s weird that you’re not together all the time, and they don’t say it but I think a lot of bots want to make sure everything’s okay.” The sniper pushed himself off his perch and made for the door with a wave. “Have a good shift, Hoist!”

As the doors hissed closed, Hoist shook his head, and was about to turn his attention back to the medical equipment when he heard the sound of Ratchet leaving his office.

“What was that about?” The CMO asked, optics still fixed on the door.

“Bluestreak had some things to say,” Hoist told him. “He can be surprisingly motivational.”

“That so?” Ratchet grunted. “Well, if it gets your partner off his aft, I’m all for it. Especially if it means I won’t have to give him a talking-to myself.”

“According to Bluestreak, most of the Ark is prepared to take action,” Hoist said. He couldn’t quite believe it, himself. The look Ratchet gave him was a sure sign that his fellow medic saw right through him.

“As well they should,” Ratchet told him.

 

Two nights later, Hoist still had not seen pede or plating of Grapple, but he’d been visited by nearly every other member of the Ark’s crew. Most were subtle about it. There had been a number of minor scrapes too insignificant for Ratchet’s attention that nevertheless brought mechs to the medbay. Prowl had stopped by in person to apologize for the abrupt change in shifts. A number of other officers had greeted him on the way to have in-person meetings with Ratchet. All took the time to ask him how he was doing.

On the other end of the spectrum, some mechs had made offers to lock him and Hoist in a storage bay together. Hoist had declined every one. You never knew, with a mech like Sideswipe, just how serious the offer was.

Whether it had happened at Bluestreak’s urging or not, Hoist had been touched by the display, though it left him worried for Grapple. Most had expressed exasperation toward Grapple that worried him. Hoist was being avoided, and he knew it, but it didn’t mean he was blameless, and he’d tried to hint so to the mechs who seemed prepared to demonize his partner.

But no one had seemed to have news of Grapple, so it was likely that he was avoiding the rest of the Ark’s crew just as deftly as he was avoiding Hoist.

That night, Hoist was attempting to get some recharge in their quarters, which he still had not rearranged. The empty spaces for Grapple’s things were a stark reminder, but Hoist couldn’t bring himself to change anything. It was a hopeful gesture, but most nights it left him feeling like a stranger in his own space, unable to recharge. Tonight was no different.

Usually he would head to the medbay to get some work done, but after several days fully staffed and with no battles, there was simply no backlog of work. It meant that if he intended to work on anything, all that was left to him were the unfinished blueprints that Grapple had not taken.

There were not many of those. Hoist was competent at building, but Grapple was the true architect. The few plans that were left were completed ones, from projects Hoist had encouraged Grapple to take on, or had even suggested himself. All were projects they had worked on together. They were left in stacks of large-screened datapads on the desk, organized haphazardly into the order they had last been looked through.

Hoist paged through them, taking inventory in a way he had not since he’d first discovered the emptied-out room. He could pull up his own memory files of each project, each one crisp and uncorrupted by time, as well as the image captures he’d taken of the finished structure. There was the clinic that Grapple had helped to construct, a symphony hall in Tyger Pax, numerous private homes built for friends and acquaintances before the war.

But as Hoist continued to shuffle through all of the old schematics, he began to notice that something was missing. So many of their projects from both Cybertron and Earth were still here, great accomplishments that Grapple had been so proud of and yet apparently so willing to leave. All of those and more, and yet…

Hoist rifled through every single set of schematics, but it only confirmed his suspicion. There was one blueprint that was missing. It wasn’t one of the grand towers or state buildings that they’d been commissioned for. In fact, it was the one structure they’d designed that they had never been able to build. But that missing schematic held a special place in Hoist’s spark, for it was the plans for the home he and Grapple had intended to build together.

Hoist’s spark lightened in his chassis. It wasn’t quite the opportunity he’d hoped for, but if Grapple had bothered to take those blueprints with him, they were still important to him. And for all that he was still avoiding Hoist, it was an opening that Hoist did not intend to let slip away.

Building a model from only memories would be difficult, but not impossible, and well worth the effort.

In the end, he got no recharge that night, but the model was finished, and that was more than enough to leave him invigorated. In the end, he had little time left before his shift began. He was tempted to bring the model to the workroom and catch Grapple before he could enter, but he suspected that forcing an encounter would not end well.

Instead, he opened a comm line. “Red Alert?”

The answer was immediate, just as he suspected it would be. “What is it, Hoist?”

“I was wondering if I might ask a favor of you.”

Red Alert’s answer was hesitant, even regretful. “I’m afraid I am still not authorized to give you any codes, even as a favor.” That was what Hoist had expected, and he said as much.

“I understand. No, it’s nothing like that. I had hoped you could deliver a package for me, if you are amenable to that?”

The caution in Red Alert’s tone was so unlike his usual brusque questioning that Hoist was touched. In his own way, Red Alert was trying to help just as much as Bluestreak. “That would depend on the package.”

“Should I bring it to your office, for you to examine in person?” Hoist offered. Red Alert would probably see it easily enough through the hallway cameras, but their chief of security was nothing if not thorough.

“Please.” That was the last thing Red Alert said before closing the comm line. Hoist carefully lifted the model in both hands, and made his way through the corridors to the monitoring station at the center of the Ark. This early in the day, there were few bots out yet, since most of them had fully adjusted their schedules to the rotations of the planet, and Hoist didn’t mind that. It meant fewer questions on the way.

Red Alert met him in the doorway, and his optics fell immediately on the model. Hoist could see the flash of understanding, and Red Alert reached out to take it with careful hands. “Ah. A thorough scan is in order, but I do not see any reason that would prevent it from being safely delivered.” He set the structure aside, and turned back to Hoist. “I will ensure that it is done. Is there any message you would like conveyed along with it?”

“No, it should speak for itself,” Hoist said gently. “Now, I must leave for my shift. Thank you for the assistance, Red Alert.”

“Think nothing of it,” Red Alert said as the door to the control room slid closed.

Hoist’s shift that day flew by in a blur of nervous anticipation. Ratchet caught on to it immediately, and even hinted that Hoist take the day off, after working the same shifts for a week or more, but Hoist brushed off the offer. If he didn’t occupy his day with something, he would merely spend the entire day pacing the length of his quarters, waiting. As it was, it was fortunate that there was little work to be done in the medbay, because Hoist accomplished none of his tasks in a timely manner.

He hardly even waited to bid Ratchet a farewell when his shift ended. Instead, he hurried to the rec room to retrieve his ration of energon, then returned to his- their- hab suite. Nervous anticipation had his frame tensed, and Hoist was left to wonder how long it would be before he was contacted, if he was at all.

The answer came sooner than he expected, in the form of a chime at the door. Hoist took a steadying vent and stepped forward to answer it.

Grapple stood in the entrance, fidgeting. After more than a week without setting an optic on his lover, Hoist was struck silent for several tremulous moments. He had to resist the urge to pull the other mech close. It was wonderful that Grapple had even showed up, but it didn’t necessarily mean that things had been resolved between them.

Mutely, he stepped back, giving Grapple the space to enter. The other bot took it, glancing around their quarters, optics darting from place to place, rarely resting on Hoist. His staring would only make Grapple more nervous, but Hoist could not tear his optics away.

“I need to apologize,” he blurted out, “for what I said.” He cycled air through his vents, steeling himself to continue. “It was uncharitable of me, and the wrong thing to say, even if I was losing my temper.” He was interrupted by a startled sound, as Grapple began staring at him with optics dimmed by surprise.

“It is I- it is I who should apologize,” Grapple stammered. “For ignoring you for so long.” There had been a time when Grapple would have apologized for reacting the way he did in the first place, for expressing what was in his spark. Hoist was glad to see that he had not fallen back into that habit, but he did not yet seem finished speaking. “I… hrm. I did not believe you would say it just to hurt me. But I was afraid it would be the truth.” Grapple’s vocalizer crackled with strained static. “I’m glad to be proven wrong.”

“Oh, Grapple.” Hoist’s spark swelled with affection. This time, he did not resist the urge to get close. He reached out and pulled his lover into a gentle embrace. Later, they would have plenty to speak about, but for now, it was simply good to have him back. “Welcome home.”


End file.
